Hope for the Hopeless
by pseudo-vulture
Summary: It's months after the day at the boys home before Elias even thinks about checking the phone he was using back then. He's hoping for something from Dominic, anything he could use against the young lion, but the last thing he expects is a call from the hospital… (Originally posted to AO3) (T for aftermath of violence)


He'd been unconscious when they pulled him out of the remains of the penthouse, and they'd kept him that way for the first month or so. It was a miracle he'd even survived long enough to be found, one of the nurses had told him. What with the combination of burns and the way Dominic's men had tortured him before the explosion, Anthony had needed all the help he could get to stay alive. Even when they woke him up, there was a tube down his throat to keep him breathing and the only way he could communicate was in writing, which was probably for the best when he was off his head on painkillers that barely seemed to make a dent in the excruciating pain from the burns that covered most of his body.

They didn't seem to understand why he grinned when they told him there were no other survivors, or why he told them not to contact anyone until he could speak to them himself when that could still take weeks, but they agreed to it. Carl and Bruce wouldn't believe someone they'd never met telling them he was alive but couldn't speak yet, no chance in hell of that. He didn't want them to have any reason to believe he was lying, they'd have been through enough.

He called Bruce first, when he could, despite his heart screaming at him to call Elias; he wanted to get an idea of what Carl's reaction would be before they finally spoke, but got no answer. The same when he called the number Carl had been using before the explosion. He waited for a nurse or someone to tell him they'd called back.

And waited.

And waited...

Elias turned on his old phone for the first time in weeks on a whim, really. He'd bought a new one after Dominic had got hold of the number to this, it was possible to do a lot of damage if you knew someone's number, these days.

When he opened his messages, he was half expecting taunts from the young lion, but there were none from the number they'd spoken on last and very few from anyone else; Bruce had got his new number out to the few people they could still trust within the first few days. In fact, there was only one voicemail from a number he didn't recognise, but when he checked the missed calls there were a couple more.

Carl narrowed his eyes and opened the voicemail, half expecting to hear a taunt from Dominic or one of his men.

The voice in the message was hoarse and shaky, but unmistakable, even from just the greeting.

"Hey Boss. Guess you stopped using this number but I didn't know how else to get in contact. It's me... I'm alive. I'm in the hospital, haven't been able to call till now. Know you'll be busy, but call me if you get this, Bruce ain't picking up either," the voice that was undeniably Anthony's went silent for moment, then his voice softened. "I love you."

Elias's heart seemed to stop beating. He might have thought it was a hoax, a recording from before Anthony had died, if it wasn't for the last part. If he knew anyone else was listening, he'd never have said that. They rarely even said it over the phone in case someone heard.

Elias swallowed hard and sat down, running his hands over his face, hitting play on the voicemail again, just to make sure. He felt very old. It wasn't like it was a new feeling; the weight on his chest and the ache in his bones hadn't gone away since the day he thought Anthony had died. He should feel good, relieved, hearing that voice, but all he could think was it had been months since that day. The message was weeks old. Anthony had been alone all that time, all because he was too busy on a suicide mission to check.

He raised his phone to his ear with shaking hands, calling the number the message had been left from.

"New York General Burns Unit, how can I help you?" the voice that answered the phone was a woman, professional but friendly.

Elias swallowed the lump forming his throat. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. Anthony Marconi. He might have been moved by now but-"

"No, he's still here," she interrupted before he could keep babbling. "would you like to talk to him, Mr…"

"Elias. And yes. Please."

"One moment."

The woman disconnected and left him listening to some very annoying hold music for a few seconds, until he heard it reconnect.

"Hello?"

"Anthony?"

"Boss? That you?" Anthony's voice seemed a little stronger than it had been on the voicemail, but not by much. It had started off tired, but seemed to gain something, relief, hope, when he realised who was calling.

Carl didn't reply, he couldn't. The breath had been knocked out of him like a wave breaking on his chest.

"You there?"

He closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe deeply. "Yeah, I'm here, Anthony. I'm still here."

"You okay?"

"I should be the one asking you that."

He heard Anthony swallow. "Been better."

"I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? Sooner." Elias said, standing up and shrugging his coat on.

"Wait," Anthony said before he could hang up. "I ain't looking so good."

"I know."

"No..." he hesitated "I was still in there when the bomb went off. I'm a mess."

"I know," he repeated, more gently this time. He knew it had to have been bad for Anthony to even still be in the hospital. "That isn't important to me, Anthony. You're alive. That's all that matters. I'm setting off now."

"'Kay, Boss. See you then."

Elias had always hated hospitals, he wasn't exactly sure why. None of the people he'd lost over the years had made it to one, his mother had bled out on the floor of their house, Gloria had flat out refused to die in there. The last time he'd set foot in one was under similar circumstances to the one he was in today, going to visit Anthony after he'd been shot by HR.

The corridor he ended up walking down was quiet. None of the noises of machines in the rooms reached out here, the only sounds accompanying Carl as he counted numbers on the doors were his own footsteps. 23b, 23c, 24a...

24b. Another door, identical to all the others he'd passed, same uniform numbers and little window at about head height in the centre, but this one slightly ajar.

He was frozen to the spot now he was so close, somehow, like all he could move was his hands, tracing the old scars across them. It was Anthony through those doors, one of the few people in the world he cared about, the only man he'd ever loved, but he'd spent months grieving, trying to find a way to make things right. None of this felt real yet.

"You just gonna stand out there all day, Boss?" Hah. Along with everything else, Anthony was also one of about five people he'd ever let talk to him that way without consequence. Some things never changed.

He didn't answer, words catching in his throat. Even if it had been with his usual level of sarcasm, those had been the first words he'd heard Anthony speak face-to-face since _that day_. The last time Carl had been so close Anthony had been telling him to go, to get away and save himself.

There were a few seconds of silence that Carl still couldn't fill, and then: "S'okay, whenever you're ready."

God, he sounded so resigned. Like he thought Carl would take one look at him and leave, or that he wouldn't even bother going in if Anthony hadn't called.

Nerves were hardly the worst thing Anthony had seen of him over the years, and he obviously needed to be by Anthony's side far more than he needed to save face. Elias squared his shoulders and pushed the door the rest of the way open slowly, forcing himself not to hesitate again.

There room was pretty standard for any hospital, two beds and the smell of disinfectant. Anthony was the only patient.

He didn't look as bad as Carl had thought, somehow. The left side of his face was, as Anthony had said, a mess, beyond recognition in spite of what seemed to be healing skin grafts, ruined tissue still twisting his lip into a sneer, but the right side was almost untouched aside from the familiar old scar. Still the man he remembered. Still the man he loved. Carl felt guilty for expecting something else.

The smile that formed on Anthony's face to greet him was nervous, tentative. "Hey, Boss. It's been a while."

Elias didn't even reply, just crossed the rest of the space between them and threw his arms around him, careful not to hurt him more than he had to, but not holding back, burying his head in Anthony's shoulder.

"Careful, I'm fragile," Anthony whispered into his ear, but held him too tightly to let him move away.

"You've never been fragile in your life."

"Till now I've never been blown up in my life either."

Carl pulled away, examining the fresh scars across Anthony's face and neck as he did.

"Too soon?"

"Maybe a little," Carl sat down on the edge of the bed on Anthony's least burned side and took his hand, gently this time. "How do you feel?"

"Better now you're here," he smirked, a ghost that only lasted a split second. "But everything hurts and the painkillers ain't working so well."

"How can I make it better?"

"You can't," he said, dragging Elias down to the bed by the hand he held, grimacing but managing a snort at Elias's soft "oof" as he fell. "C'mere."

"Thought you said it hurt?"

"It does," Anthony shrugged slightly, leaning over to kiss him.

"Masochist."

"You knew that already," he whispered with another small smirk, resting his head on Elias's shoulder. "But I need you here, close. I missed you."

Neither of them spoke for what felt like a long time.

"I was lost without you, Anthony," Carl said so softly he barely heard it. "I should never have given up on you."

"I couldn't take any more pain."

"And how has that been working out for you? If I hadn't given them the code, I could have spared you all this."

There'd been no plan for him to make it out of that room, no matter what the Boss had thought. It was either them torturing him until his body finally gave in, a bullet, or the bomb. It hurt, and _god_ if that wasn't the understatement of the fucking century, but if he could survive, he could take it. "I'll live."

"I didn't know you would. I couldn't stand to hear you like that, but now..." Carl trailed off and squeezed his arm for a moment, and Anthony did his best not to wince. "I love you. I don't tell you enough; that's what I worried about when I thought you were gone, that you'd never know how much I care about you."

Anthony wondered, sometimes, how many people would have been shocked that Carl was even capable of caring at all. They weren't the kind of people who wore their hearts on their sleeves, they couldn't afford to be. Anthony sometimes wondered why Carl cared about him like he did; you could pick up six guys exactly like him on the corner of every block in every bad neighbourhood in the world, Carl was different, driven, intelligent, but he'd still picked Anthony over everyone else, but he'd never doubted that Carl did care. Not until the last few weeks he'd spent alone in the hospital.

"I know, Boss," Anthony whispered. "I know."

"I looked, you know. Called every hospital, every morgue. Had people check in person. They all told me the same thing: the only thing they found in there were bodies, and they'd all been identified..." he trailed off. "It's no excuse, but I won't leave you like this again."

Anthony didn't reply this time, just shifted closer to him.

"You're tired."

"Always seem to be."

"Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

Anthony hummed in acknowledgement and leaned into Elias's shoulder. He was half asleep, eyes closed but wearing a small smile, when he spoke again. "Love the beard, Boss."

"Shut up."


End file.
